


Really, Very Sorry

by norgbelulah



Series: Post-season Winona and Boyd fic series [1]
Category: Justified
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:46:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norgbelulah/pseuds/norgbelulah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winona feels like she has reason to hate Boyd Crowder. Too bad the stars and Harlan's 24 hour Walmart have aligned for their ill-fated meeting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Really, Very Sorry

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written May 2011. Posting now to archive all my fic at the AO3.

Winona tries not to clutch at her abdomen as she navigates the weirdly designed aisles of Harlan's one and only Walmart at 1:00 am on the morning following Raylan's obscenely wise jaunt back into coal country.

She's searching vainly through the pharmacy shelves for pre-natal vitamins, because in her haste to come back out here in response to that soul-shattering phone call from Art, she hadn't brought anything with her. Aspirin she had found, though she was pissed the nurse wouldn't get her any at the hospital, just because she wasn't a patient. She had a fucking headache. Did you have to get shot in Harlan County in order to get some goddamn pain medication?

Yes, her thoughts sneer at her, fucking shot, in the fucking gut.

She tries not to think about it, but she can't. She tries to keep her brain from screaming at her that one of these days some other bullet won't miss something vital, won't tear him out of her life, out of her child's life. She presses her hand there, where there isn't even evidence yet, and she tries so hard not to cry.

Finally, she finds it, snuggled next to diapers and baby powder, which makes no fucking sense to her whatsoever. She pulls a bottle off the shelf, holding the aspirin in her other hand and makes to get the hell out of there, and back to Raylan.

This is when she rounds a corner and runs smack into Boyd Crowder.

She knows it's him. But he doesn't see her face right away. She wants to speed off, drop the freaking bottles and race for her car. Get out. She doesn't want to talk to him. She knows he'll recognize her. And she hates him.

She knows half of what happened to bring Raylan into that hospital bed was his own fault. But she feels the other half of what brought Raylan back to Harlan, back to life-threatening danger, over and over again, was his connection to Boyd, his inability to let go of what happened last year with that Ava woman and what happened twenty years ago when he dug coal with Boyd.

This time, in Kentucky, wasn’t the first time she’d heard of Boyd Crowder.

Once, at least ten years before, she and Raylan had lingered over drinks on their anniversary dinner. They didn’t often get drunk together at that point in their marriage. Raylan had been so busy with work, and they’d sort of let their lives away from each other dominate much of their attention. It wasn’t really the end of things, but it had been close to it.

But that night, she’d had nearly a bottle of wine to herself and Raylan had switched to bourbon two drinks before. She’d been telling him about a work friend who would smile, like all-out grin, while reporting for the court. She was saying how crazy she thought it was that this woman could make that face and concentrate at the same time, or that she could even take so much pleasure from typing out the proceedings. Sure, Winona thought it was interesting, she would tear her hair out otherwise, but this woman obviously thought it was a riot.

Raylan had smiled at her, his fun, drunk smile, and said he knew a man in the mine who loved his job just as much. But it was the way he said it that caught her attention, even in her cups. He talked about this guy like he was something special.

He said, "Boyd was the powder man, and he loved it, I mean he loved to blow shit up. Even in the hole. In the dark where you can only see what the lights are showing you. He was never scared. And that smile could light the goddamn fuses." But after he said it he got real quiet for a while and Winona knew, no matter how much she wanted to, not to ask him anything about mining coal or Harlan County that night, or for a while after.

Maybe she shouldn't blame any of it on Boyd Crowder. She doesn't know him, doesn't know what he thinks of Raylan and his duty and his honor and his job. She doesn't know what he thought of Raylan then, or his perceptions of what there ever was between them. But she knows she can be a spiteful person and she thinks right about now is the time for it. So she hates him. A lot.

But then she goes and smiles at him and says, "Oh, I'm so sorry," as he picks himself up off the floor, like maybe he won't recognize her.

Except he does.

He smiles right back at her, not real big like Raylan had described, but slow and soft, like he'd just discovered in her a brand new species of woman. "Winona Hawkins," he said and held out his hand. "I am so pleased to finally meet you. I'm Boyd Crowder."

"I know," she says, trying to cut the hard edge out of her voice.

“I fear we only know each other by reputation. I am sincerely glad to remedy that today.”

She doesn’t answer in a similar fashion, and he notices. She does take his hand after a moment of hesitation, and she finds it surprisingly warm, and strong. It reminds her of Raylan’s handshake and she doesn’t like that at all.

“It was good of you, coming out for Helen’s funeral. Raylan doesn’t take comfort from many people,” he says like he’s allowed to speak as if they’re friends. “I know he was glad to have you there.”

“I’m sorry, but who the hell do you think you are?” She can’t stop herself, doesn’t really want to.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” he asks softly.

“You have no right,” Winona raises then lowers her voice, realizing they are still in a public place. That doesn’t mean she’s any less forceful. “To stand here and speak to me about Raylan like you’re friends or something, while he’s lying in a hospital bed because you can’t keep him the hell out of your hillbilly gang war.”

Boyd’s hand is gripping her wrist, painfully hard, before she’s even finished speaking. Her hold on the bottle loosens and it falls to the ground. She thanks god it’s plastic and doesn’t shatter.

“What,” he asks, “about a hospital bed?”

Winona works her jaw. “Raylan was shot. He took a bullet in the gut at Mags Bennett’s front door. Then he walked around for twenty minutes before he let the paramedics touch him.”

She is genuinely surprised that Boyd hadn’t known, hadn’t heard yet. She’s also surprised by the expression on his face, which is caught somewhere between sheer horror and wracking guilt. She rips her arm from his grip, and he doesn’t stop her.

“I apologize, Miss Hawkins, if I offended you,” he says numbly and she doesn’t understand him at all. Are they actually friends? She hadn’t gotten that impression lately, when the topic of Boyd Crowder was raised anywhere near Raylan.

“You see,” he continues. “I do understand what you’re feeling right now, because someone close to me has also been grievously injured today.”

“Who?” She asks before she thinks better of it.

He smiles again, sadder this time, like it’s an echo of happier times. “Actually, the person who told me most of what I know about you. My brother’s widow, Ava.”

Winona’s hands rise to her mouth of their own accord. She thinks of the beautiful Ava. She knows what it was that Raylan liked about her and what it was that attracted him to her. It seems her luck hasn’t got any better now that Raylan is out of her life. “Oh my God. I’m… so sorry.”

His expression twists in a way that’s just shy of bitter as he says, “Well it seems I could not keep her out of my hillbilly gang war, either.”

“Oh my God,” Winona repeats herself, simply mortified. “I really am sorry to hear that. And I… I’m just so so sorry. I really should go.”

She moves to pick up the bottle she had dropped, but he beats her to it and she winces as he reads the label. He looks back up at her face and she can tell he doesn’t know whether to congratulate her or apologize.

Neither of them say anything for a moment and then, as he hands her the bottle, something else occurs to her. “Raylan had bruises, big dark ones, on his arm and his back, and big… welts,” her voice trips a little, “on his ankle.” Winona looks up at Boyd. “You wouldn’t know anything about that would you? Raylan, he was real quiet when I asked him.”

She thinks what he’s just found out about her ought to push him towards honesty and she has a hunch that he knows.

“Miss Hawkins, I’m not sure that you—“ he begins, obviously torn.

“I’m a big girl, Mr. Crowder. I was married to the man for twelve years and I am pregnant with his child. You, also happen to be the very first person besides Raylan that I’ve told, so I’m thinking that entitles me to a little truth and all but requires you to answer my question. Where did those injuries come from?”

He sighs and begins to tell his story, like she’s just dragging it out of him, “I left my home intending to shoot Dickie Bennett in the head, him being the man who shot Ava.”

Winona makes herself look at him and his pain, since she’s the one who asked for it.

“When I got to where Dickie was, he had Raylan strung up by his ankle from a tree limb, wailing on him with a baseball bat.”

The idea is so foreign to Winona that she has to ask breathlessly, “But why?” It was so strangely elaborate.

“They have history,” Boyd says with finality. She knows he’s not going to say any more than that.

But then it clicks for her. Baseball. “This Dickie… oh my god. He’s the boy Raylan…”

“Yes.”

“I thought,” she sputtered. “I thought it was Bennett High School, that’s what Raylan told me…” He’d told her that story too when he was drunk. She’d found out more about him when he had bourbon in him than any other alcohol and at any other time. It’s like Jim Beam has a mainline to Raylan’s memories of home.

“It’s the family’s name, too,” Boyd replies gravely.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” That man. That stupid stupid man went back into this snake’s nest knowing that boy, whose life he ruined and brother he killed was coming after people with guns?

Boyd continues as if she hasn’t embarrassed them both with her profanity. “I’ve seen men strung up like that,” he says softly and she sees real pain in his eyes, making her wonder about him again. “I’ll tell you, it scared the shit out of me, seeing Raylan like that. Before I realized he wasn’t dead. I… intervened, got him cut down and Raylan… convinced me to let him take Dickie to save that little girl.”

Winona smiles in spite of herself. “You mean he did whatever he wanted and told you to say what you like?”

Now Boyd grins, all-out, and it really is quite nice. “Yes, ma’am.” Then he sobers. “I really am very sorry to hear he took one, Miss Hawkins. And I do hope he’s on the mend.”

She puts on her stiff upper lip. She’s gone through this before, it ain’t a picnic, but she can handle it when she has to. “Doctors say he’ll be back at work in a month or two. It wasn’t nearly so bad as it could have been. I hope… the story’s similar for Ava.”

“Yes, actually, it’s very similar,” he says.

“She’s over at Harlan general?” Winona motions in the direction of the hospital.

Now Boyd glances away from her, looking uncomfortable. “No,” he says carefully, “We, ah, prefer alternate methods of healthcare, lately.”

“Oh, oh,“ Winona wants to smack herself. “Of course, I’m sorry. Puttin’ my big ol’ foot in my mouth, as usual. Please forgive—“

“It’s fine, Miss Hawkins,” he says warmly. And she sees something like understanding enter his expression.

“Please,” she says before she thinks better of it, yet again. “Just call me Winona. I mean, I’ve embarrassed myself enough to be on a first name basis, right?” She pauses, but then he smiles like she’s just given him something precious. “You really are his friend, aren’t you?”

Boyd grins again, all teeth, somehow just projecting good feeling, and Winona really does like it. “When circumstances and Raylan Givens allow,” he replies.

Winona laughs and finds she can barely remember why she hated him only a few minutes ago, let alone try and grasp that feeling again. Instead, she takes his hand in hers, “I do, sincerely hope Ava recovers quickly. It was nice to finally speak with you, Boyd. You’re not what I expected.”

“Likewise, Winona,” Boyd says. “You know, I used to wonder, what kind of woman would marry Raylan. And then I wondered what kind of woman would leave him. But I see now, you’re just what he’d like.”

She doesn’t quite know how to take that, and she wonders how it is he’s so confident he still understands what it is that Raylan likes. But she smiles at him, says thank you, takes her bottle, and tries not to sprint out of that Walmart in a flurry of confusion, embarrassment, all the while blushing red to her goddamn toes.


End file.
